Skalmöld nodded.
“I need to prepare myself for the ritual, and Andora is going to assist me.” Something shrewd and amused flashed in Skalmöld’s eyes. “How about you return to your thrall and send me some of theseiðrthe two of you are going to create?”
It wasn’t even a far-fetched assumption. Most men would use their thralls to serve their needs, and if they could humiliate an enemy warrior in the same way, they’d gladly do that too. Njord should revel in Thori’s suffering, but the idea of making Thori serve him against his will didn’t sit right with him.
“I’m not sure if I—”
“Don’t worry. I have an inkling you’re going to have someseiðrto spare, but that may be just the scattered thoughts of an oldvala.”
A strange sense of foreboding washed over Njord, not unlike the first time he wandered up to Skalmöld’s mountain cave. What had her runes shown her about his fate?
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Skalmöld’s eyes were wide, shining with an inner light.
“When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”
Njord’s throat was tight as he nodded, and suddenly he felt an urgent need to be near Thori.
“Send for me if you need anything,” he said before starting his descent, leaving the women to their grim business.
He had to stand by his word.
Beeswax candles and the hearth’s merry fire bathed his chambers in soft light and cast dancing shadows on the walls. Thori sat on a rug by the fire playing a game ofhnefataflagainst himself, still wearing the cream-colored tunic Njord had chosen for him to wear in the morning. The fabric caught the candlelight, making Thori’s skin glow like burnished gold.
“You had a busy day,” Thori said without looking up.
Njord smiled at the petulant undertone in Thori’s voice. When had the thunder god’s antics become so endearing?
“I had duties to attend to.” He closed the door to the main chamber. “But I’m here now.”
Thori finally looked up, defiance sparkling in his eyes, mixed with something feverish and needy that made Njord’s pulse quicken.
“You said you would punish me for my rashness at the council.”
The words sounded steady enough, but Thori’s body was thrumming with tension like a wolf crouched to spring.
“I did.” Njord moved closer. “Stand up.”
Rising gracefully to his feet, Thori obeyed, radiant like his lightning. What a cruel joke played by all the norns and higher powers that the blasted Odinsson, of all people, had to be the most beautiful thing Njord had ever seen.
“Strip.”
For a heartbeat, he thought Thori might refuse, as his eyes flashed with princely pride. But then Thori’s hands moved to the fastenings of his shirt, his fingers working with deliberate slowness. Teasing. Almost…seductive.
The silk whispered as it fell away, pooling at Thori’s feet like spilled water. In the flickering light of the candles, the fading cuts and old scars marring his skin shone like chains of silver, and when he bent to remove his breeches, his hair fell in his face in the most precious way.
“By the tides, you’re gorgeous,” Njord murmured, the words escaping before he could stop himself.
Thori looked up sharply, color spreading across his cheekbones.
“Don’t mock me.”
The edge in Thori’s voice astounded Njord. Surely the Prince of Asgard knew how gorgeous he was. Surely everyone in Odin’s realm fell over themselves to compliment him and please him.
“I’mnotmocking you,” Njord said firmly, marveling at the flush that spread down Thori’s chest. He sat down on the edge of his bed and patted his thigh. “Come here.”
“You can’t seriously mean to—”
